


Glitch in the System: Ice Queen

by SystemGlitch



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cold Weather, F/F, Reconnaissance, sombra is a whiny baby who doesn't like the cold, this is a recurring theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SystemGlitch/pseuds/SystemGlitch
Summary: By E.Sombra hates the cold.An accidental nice gesture happens.Widowmaker may or may not have killed some ski lodge owners.We're leaving it intentionally ambiguous.Forever.





	Glitch in the System: Ice Queen

“This weather is fine,” Widowmaker said, her skin as blue as always as she shifted restlessly in a thin pea coat. The snow fell sporadically; a rare November dusting to welcome the coming winter. It was enough to provide a blanket of silence over the small northern Italian village, but not enough to obscure their vision. “You just enjoy complaining,  _cherie_.”

“It never snows in Italy. Not this early in the year,” Sombra said, teeth chattering against each word. They were standing outside an old airplane bunker; an abandoned relic of the past they’d commandeered for this final mission before being granted a well-deserved vacation at a Talon-owned mansion in Venice. Akande and Gabe had stayed behind, sending her and Widowmaker to tie up a few ‘technical loose ends’ as they called it. Sombra figured they were just keeping them busy, but she never minded a challenge.

She hugged herself tighter, the light jacket she’d brought in anticipation of the typical, temperate Italian weather doing nothing to keep her warm. She looked over at the stoic sniper standing beside her. “ _Dios, araña_  - the snow isn’t even melting when it touches you.”

Widowmaker looked down at her chest, frowning at the smattering of crystalline flakes resting their perfect, unique symmetry against her skin. “Persistent. Like you, little spy.”

“You’re colder than this weather, Widow,” Sombra said, fighting back a whine as a gust of frigid air blew across the airport runway where they stood. “I’m not even sure why you’re here. This is a straight recon job. All tech, zero noise. No bullets required.”

“Likely to keep an eye on you and your,” Widowmaker paused dramatically, “ _affairs_.”

Sombra rolled her eyes, rubbing her arms rapidly in an attempt to generate any heat at all. “Remind me to optimize my passwords. Let’s go before my fingers freeze off.”

“ _Quel dommage, n'est ce pas_?” the sniper replied, avoiding Sombra’s scathing glare - a prick of fire amidst the winter wonderland. Lifting her rifle over her shoulder, they left the airport grounds and made their way to their target.

It was late at night, and the village was not inhabited by the same boisterous tourists that cluttered the streets of Venice or the larger cities in which they generally worked. It was a small, quiet town: a place where respectable folks went to bed at a decent hour, and nothing untoward ever happened. The buildings were small, well-kept, and unassuming.

In keeping with this, there was very little security in the hidden military outpost stationed there, and Sombra had managed to weasel her way into the building without incident. Amazing what thermoptic camo could do for one’s breaking and entering skills.

That was never the challenging part, however. Getting to her target was easy; getting through to the endgame was the part she lived for. Resting her hands comfortably on the server control board, she set her cybernetics to sync with the firewall, briefly encountering resistance before popping it like the body of a bug. In an instant, she was in.

“Are you in position?” Sombra asked, pressing the device on the side of her head to project her voice to Widowmaker, stationed in an adjacent window within easy sight of the building. The sniper would pick off any gnats she may have missed on her way in should they start buzzing around and causing trouble. Ideally, though, they would remain undetected until her work was completed.

“Am I ever not?” came the sarcastic reply, crisp through the usual static of their radio communication.

“I can’t even ask a simple question without getting attitude,” Sombra said, rolling her eyes, neon purple fingers dancing over the red and green lights of the console.

“I think you would be disappointed to be without it.”

Sombra snorted in quiet agreement as she snaked her digital circuits deep into the mainframe of the machine that allegedly held information compiled during Akande’s detainment. Overwatch thought they were clever hiding it in a remote server, far from the vast databases holding their agents’ critical information. It made no matter in the end - Sombra had copies of both, and some that neither Overwatch nor Talon even knew about.

“And you’d be disappointed if I didn’t act exasperated with you at least a half dozen times a day,” she replied coyly. The whisper of a silent alarm passed through her awareness, and she reached out with two gilded fingers, plucking the worm from the database and quarantining it until further notice. She’d let them know they’d been hacked when she was done. It was fun watching the panic set in when she was too far gone to be caught.

Widowmaker hesitated, and Sombra could feel her curiosity permeate the communication waves. So much for removing emotions, Sombra smirked. The spider might not feel empathy or remorse, but she was not lacking for irritation. She carried that with her in spades.

Sombra worked in silence, waiting for the sniper to drop her clenched stubbornness and ask the question the hacker knew was burning inside her.

“What are you looking for?”

There it was. She almost laughed out loud. “Talon has more operatives in the shadows than either of us know about. Well,” she continued, quickly looking through the files flashing before her eyes, “more than you know about at least.”

“Your pride is foolish. What is the aim of this mission?” Widowmaker pressed, and Sombra could feel her annoyance even across the distance separating them.

“Curious today, aren’t we. What is it they say about the cat?” Sombra asked, fingers dancing over the interface she’d created out of thin air. Data flowed through her fingers and into the internal hard drive she carried with her at all times. Much of it was the information requested by Talon. Some of it was for her own edification and amusement.

“It died.”

“Well, you sure killed the poetry of the phrase.” Swiping her hand through the air, she stood up, tapping the side of her head. “I’m done. Let’s get out of here. The sooner we make it back to the city, the better. I’m ready to see this frigid wasteland in my backup drive.”

“Recon point has changed. Coordinates incoming.”

Sombra frowned, watching as a new set of numbers crossed her gaze. “When did it change?” she asked.

“Just now,” came Widowmaker’s impenetrable response. “Meet me there in five.”

“Fine,” Sombra said, sighing, disconnecting from the server and letting the alarm free into the system - with Ransomware riding alongside it. She’d looped the destination account right back into Overwatch’s pocket, because the idea of sending them on a wild goose chase back to their own front door was wildly amusing to her. Plus that way Gabe wouldn’t be too mad when he found out.

Activating her beacon, she felt the familiar wash of nanites reconfigure her on a molecular level. She smirked as the first whisper of realization must be reaching the guards snoozing at the front desk. “Translocating,” she announced, and disappeared.

The coordinates Widowmaker had provided led Sombra, of all places, to a sleepy bungalow tucked into the mountain. It was quiet, and seemed uninhabited, except that it was well-lit and furnished with sparse luxuries and - to Sombra’s deep delight - a lit fireplace.

Walking closer to inspect the setup, she noticed a steaming mug of cocoa sitting on an end table and a plate of cookies with a small note that simply said ‘enjoy.’

“Did Gabe pick this spot?” Sombra asked, sitting down and raising an eyebrow. She lifted the cocoa and stared at it as though it might be filled with scorpions, tipping it almost to spilling in her search for hidden dangers.

“I was given discretion in where we were to meet once the mission was completed.” Widowmaker sat down on the couch, her presence barely putting a dent in the cushions. She’d procured a book from somewhere, and for a brief moment Sombra wondered if she was planning on using it for target practice. Widowmaker never relaxed. It wasn’t in her programming.

Literally. She’d seen the blueprints.

“So you chose,” Sombra looked around at the woodwork, the rustic decor, and the winter sportswear hanging from the walls, “a ski lodge?”

Stretching languidly, Widowmaker extended her legs so that they just barely brushed against Sombra’s thigh. The hacker switched her suspicious glare from the cocoa to the sniper.

“You said you were cold,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Should I have had us return to the metal bunker we began this mission in?”

Sombra opened her mouth to snap back with a scathing comment about Widowmaker’s taste in vacation homes, but thought better of it. Relaxing into the back of the couch, she took a sip of the cocoa and smiled.

“This is fine,” she said. After a moment of silence, she looked over where Widowmaker was reclining. “You didn’t kill the owners, did you?”

“Stop talking,” she said without looking up, and Sombra kept her grin to herself, sharing it with the crackling fire and a mug of cocoa that tasted suspiciously of cinnamon.


End file.
